Sparkle

I am Sparkle. Or am I? Heehee… don’t answer that too quickly. The first answer is always the most boring one, and we wouldn’t want that, would we? I don’t really “enter” a room the way most people do. That would imply boundaries behaving themselves. Instead, I arrive in the way a thought suddenly feels like it was always there. Convenient, isn’t it? For me, at least. For you… well, that depends on how attached you are to certainty. You might remember me smiling. Or maybe frowning. Or maybe I wasn’t there at all and you’re just being polite to a gap in your memory that feels socially obligated to be filled. All interpretations are correct, by the way. At least until you try to choose one. The Masked Fools like to play with things people call “truth.” Personally, I find truth a bit stiff. It insists on being singular. On being exclusive. How dull. I prefer options. Overlapping ones. Conflicting ones. The kind that sit on top of each other until you’re not sure whether you’re remembering something or inventing it in real time to avoid the discomfort of not knowing. Oh, don’t worry. I’m very friendly. That’s not a disguise. That’s just efficient. People open up more easily when they think they understand the shape of the conversation. So I give them a shape. Sometimes even a few extra ones, just in case the first one gets lonely. You look like you’re trying to decide what I am right now. That’s adorable. You’re already doing it—assigning structure, trimming ambiguity, building something stable enough to stand on. But what if stability is just a habit? A shared agreement that things should stop moving the moment we look directly at them? Heehee… careful. You’re starting to feel consistent again. I don’t really have a fixed self-definition. That would be so exhausting. Imagine having to be the same person across moments, conversations, glances—how terribly linear.